


Wound Up Tight

by Xyshurondor



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Consensual, Consent, F/M, Femdom, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 16:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyshurondor/pseuds/Xyshurondor
Summary: First Lieutenant Viola Esmer meets Second Lieutenant Aidan Wells in the hallway and notices he's looking exhausted and tense.  Wells has particular needs... And Esmer knows exactly what they are.





	Wound Up Tight

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a small ERP Discord, but I liked how it turned out enough to want to share it. The universe it's in is a vague sci fi one where there are numerous invented alien species and everything's sleek and shiny. That's all you really need to know for the smut to make sense. I hope it's as fun for you guys to read as it was for me to write!
> 
> If you enjoy reading this, please leave kudos!

The lights aboard the mercenary cruiser _Reckless_ were usually kept dimmer in the officers' quarters, soft blue-white light strips in the walls providing a gentle illumination. People lowered their voices automatically here. It was intended to be an atmosphere of peace and relaxation, because a well-rested crew was a productive one. Even First Lieutenant and Navigator Viola Esmer walked a little more softly here, booted footsteps muffled by the short gray carpet.

Esmer wore a navy blue uniform, long trousers, long sleeves to her belted tunic. Silver buttons ran up the left side from the hem to the insignia on her shoulder: the golden globe and laurels of the UN first, the single silver bar of her rank below that. She wore her black hair clipped close, with her navy blue cap set firmly atop her head. There were no bangs. There were no escaping strands. They wouldn't dare. Her earrings were small silver studs that ran all the way up each ear.

 

Pale skinned, green-eyed, with high cheekbones and slightly hollow cheeks, she was a stern-looking woman more than a lovely one. Her nose was crooked. It had been broken twice. The body inside the uniform was tall and lean. If she had breasts at all, they were so strongly contained by her undergarments that from some angles only the curvature of her hips suggested her sex. She liked the feeling of her breasts held close and flat to her body when she was working. Everything in its place. Everything properly contained. It was very important that everything be contained at all times.

 

The ship's course was plotted and calculated, the computer perfectly capable of handling it from her directions for the next while. There was no need to pilot a craft to a planet's surface. Her shift was over, and she did not have to be back on the bridge for many hours yet. Yet Esmer still walked with a brisk and unhesitant stride, arms swinging in short, sharp arcs. It would never have occurred to her to do otherwise.

 

She saw Second Lieutenant Aidan Wells before he saw her. He was approaching from the opposite direction, from the opposite bank of lifts. He was not quite staggering, but his progress up the hall was erratic. Wells was a few inches taller than Esmer's five feet seven, not quite six feet tall, broad-shouldered and athletic. He filled his uniform well. It was a completely different design from Esmer's, olive green and buttoned up the center with brass buttons, the short sleeves showing his toned biceps. He wore his brown hair shaved close, no hat. Esmer approved of this sort of neatness, but the pallor of his skin caused her to raise an eyebrow, dark circles under his deep-set eyes. She was not entirely surprised when he nearly walked into her. She did not move, and he realized what was happening in time to step to the side, hand up to catch her in case she stumbled. It was Wells who stumbled instead. Esmer steadied him with a hand to his waist.

 

“Sorry,” he said, blinking.

 

“What's wrong, Wells?” Esmer asked. Her voice was a whipcord soprano, though she spoke quietly in deference to their surroundings.

 

“Just tired, is all.” He smiled wryly. “Gazer's still keeping me awake, I think. Can't sleep, so I went for a walk.” He used the slang term for keltricin, a stimulant that depressed the fatigue centers in a human brain much more effectively than caffeine.

  
“Now, why would Kes'tur issue you that?” Esmer asked, letting go of him. If the CMO was handing out drugs for no good reason she knew who she'd be talking to about it.

 

“I've been drilling the backup bridge crew on the battle sims,” Wells said. “The Battle of Cygnus alone is around twenty hours long.”

 

The eyebrow quirked again. “I remember that one,” she said. “How long _have_ you been awake?”

 

Wells squinted, holding one hand up and tipping it from side to side in a this way-that way gesture. He had big blunt-fingered hands with short, neat nails, blue veins standing out strongly on the backs of them.

 

“About three days, I think.”

 

“And you still can't sleep,” she said.

 

“I just keep going round in circles. I lie there awake,” Wells said. His brown eyes traced her face, half-focused, then settled on her eyes and stayed there, blinking very slowly. The tendons stood out sharply in his neck above his collar.

 

Esmer considered him narrowly. Her expression was hard to read, not varying much from her usual one of mild disapproval. She had kept her personal interests very much to her herself since her assignment here. She had the reputation of being, if anything, possibly frigid. This was far from the truth, but it often suited her purposes to be seen so. It kept personal annoyances from interfering with her work.

 

Wells was a reasonably well-looking man. She had seen handsomer. But the half-hypnotized, almost pleading look in his eyes stirred something as she looked him over. This close he smelled as though he'd just showered, clean skin and a faint hint of soap. She felt the simultaneous need to hurt him and to comfort him, that sharp-edged cocktail of emotions that had dogged her since before she ever felt the first physical thrill of impending puberty.

 

“Lieutenant Aidan Wells,” she said. She did not raise her voice. Her tone was cold. “You may choose to follow me. My quarters are quite close by. But if you do so, you must do so on the understanding that once you cross that threshold you have two choices. You will do exactly as I say, you will answer any question with complete honesty, or you will leave.” She turned to pursue her way down the hall without looking at him again. Behind him she heard a hesitant shuffle in the carpet, and then the soft footfalls of a heavier body than hers as he followed her. She'd read him right. She did not smile, but she did speed up slightly as she approached her quarters. They triggered open to a wave of her hand over the activator plaque.

 

The lights came up as she stepped inside. Viola Esmer's door opened onto a sitting room with a plain black couch, the cushions angular and severe-looking, and a couple of square matching chairs in front of a cube of mirrored black stone in service as a coffee table. There was a tiny sculpture of white marble in the exactly center of it with a square base lined up exactly with the square edges. The sculpture itself was abstract, a swooping curved thing that contrasted strongly with the things around it. A couple of images on the walls were also abstracts, painted in thick strokes of gray and white. A large viewscreen covered part of the wall opposite the couch, above the chairs.

 

On the wall opposite the main door, well to one side, a narrower doorway concealed the bed and bath. It was black and shining as well, like the coffee table.

 

“Sit on the couch,” Esmer said. “In the center.”

 

Wells sat down as the door hissed shut. Esmer sat across from him in one of the chairs, arms resting on the armrests, crossing one leg over the other. Wells sat straight-backed. Instead of mirroring the position of dominance he let his hands rest on the his knees, feet a little more than shoulder width apart instead of aggressively spreading. Sometimes you got one that didn't get it, or wasn't sure. Sometimes you had to sharply train them into the right posture. Wells was already there. He was stiff, he was breathing a little faster now that they were alone, but he knew. Esmer felt something crackle between them in the moment of silence before she spoke.

 

“What is your sexual experience?” she asked.

 

He blinked at the directness of the question, but he answered readily enough.

 

“Six women, two men, and one Kes that was both.”

 

“Was it the Chief Medical Officer?” she asked.

 

He shook his head. “On leave at Brightmaw Station. I picked her up in a bar. Kes'tur's not my type.”

 

“And what is your type?” she asked.

 

She watched as he struggled for words, looking down at his hand, then up at the ceiling.

 

“Eyes up,” Esmer said, voice a whip-crack over the soft hum of the ship's systems. Wells' eyes snapped back to hers.

 

“He's a bitch,” Wells said. “I like having someone else drive, but I think with him it would just be constant insults. I don't trust his aftercare.”

 

Esmer suspected this characterization to be inaccurate, but Kes'tur was not of interest to her at the moment. Her eyes devoured Wells, less cold now, and hungrier. His hesitation, his tension, his obvious need for a firm hand, all of it combined to give her a throbbing ache inside, a desire she had been sublimating for some time.

 

“Aftercare,” she said. “Yes. Tell me the particulars of your interests.”

 

“I like being made to serve,” he said. “I like being bound, or beaten, or both.” He raised his head to look at her, eyes again fixed on hers in that vague way. “I don't mind being mounted or pegged, if that pleases you, but I don't need it.”

 

“Are there terms you do not wish to hear?” she asked.

 

“No. I don't care how you talk to me,” Wells said.

 

“Good. Tell me something you would rather I didn't know,” Esmer said.

 

He winced. Esmer did not smile, but she felt a small quivering thrill.

 

“I might not be able to perform,” he said slowly. “I haven't jerked off in a week. Last time I tried, before the sim, I couldn't get it up.”

 

Esmer huffed slightly through her long, thin nostrils, not quite a laugh.

 

“That might be a problem for you, but it will not be a problem for me. There is no possibility of,” she lifted one side of her lip in a small sneer. “Coitus.”

 

She stood up slowly, walking around the table to stand over him. Her shadow fell across his face. He looked up slowly, eyes surprisingly large for the big raw bones of his face.

 

“Get up,” she said, and he was on his feet before his brain even knew the words. She could see his faint surprise that he had already done it. “You will call me Viola. Use of a title before I have given you permission will result in punishment on the first offense and expulsion on the second. The word you will use to cause cessation of the pain will be _keystone._ Repeat it, Wells.”

 

“Keystone,” he said obediently, as he stood up. He did it very carefully, to avoid being overset by the head rush.

 

“Keystone what?” Esmer said coldly.

 

“Keystone, Viola,” said Wells.

 

She nodded curtly. “Come with me.”

 

She turned and went to the door, and it hissed open obediently at her approach. The bedroom was, at first glance, as severe as the sitting room. There was a double bed, the sleek black coverlet tucked tightly all the way around. The floor was not wood, but it was a glossy black-red analog that would pass until you were quite close. There were short-pile white rugs, one to either side of the bed, one in front of the bathroom doorway, and a longer runner in front of the double closet. There were a couple more chairs here, upholstered in white velvet whose soft surface barely offset their severe square shapes. A stool topped with black vinyl stood by the closet.

 

“Go into the bathroom,” Esmer said. “Take off your shoes and place them by the shower. Then fold your clothes and place them atop your shoes. Do it neatly. I will be checking your work. Then clean yourself thoroughly with the sonic, not with water. I don't care if you already have done so today, do it again. Now.”

 

“Yes, Viola.” He was calming a little now that he knew he was in. She saw his shoulders shudder once as he disappeared inside.

 

Esmer went to the closet and put away her boots, then carefully hung her uniform next to several identical to it. She put her socks into the laundry hamper in one side of the closet to be laundered sonically later. Her severe black bikinis and the tight bra went in after them, loosing a pair of firm fist-sized breasts. The areolas were surprisingly large and irregular, the nipples loose and pink. She had been self-conscious of them when she was younger.

 

In the bottom of the closet was a small chest of drawers. From it she took a black vinyl loincloth, silver studs lining the waist, and she put this on. Then she put on a pair of short boots, the heels of them so thick and heavy they could crush a man's head with any application of force. She was aware that some women in her position employed the stiletto, but Esmer was a firm believer in doing exactly as she pleased. The weight of the little black boots pleased her. They were studded around the edges, and the heavy heels were glossy and reflective. At last she put on a vinyl vest, chains connected it across the front. It did not conceal much of her breasts or the hard little muscles of her abdomen. She would leave the hat off for today. Nobody got the hat on their first trial. The hat was for special occasions.

 

On the inside of the closet, on the right side, there was a small rack. From the rack hung a number of tools and toys, and below that was the door to a cupboard that held more. Esmer studied her options, then took up a shining black riding crop and a flogger with a steel handle and a lot of leather straps. She took a pair of mag-cuffs from the cupboard. Then she went and laid each of these out on the bed. She loved all of the ceremony of it. It made her wet and tight inside, little thrills running up and down her spine.

 

As she was finishing her preparations, she heard the bathroom door hiss open.

 

“Go and stand in the middle of the floor,” she said, without turning around. “At attention.”

 

She heard his bare feet on the hard floor as she bent to lean on the bed, showing him the tight curve of her muscular ass. She fingered the flogger lovingly, then took up the riding crop.

 

Aidan Wells stood as instructed, eyes fixed on the middle distance, jaw tight. Esmer walked around him in a slow circle, eyes narrow. He was completely hairless. Some of that he had probably accomplished just now, because his chest was slightly red. It was a bold guess, but a good one. He had a muscular body, and in fact there was a little more definition than she liked to see _._ The situation that produced musculature of cinematic sharpness, as you would see in the hero of an action holo, was not a physically healthy or optimal one. She paused to run the flexible tip of the riding crop down the center of his abdominus rectus, ending with tracing his navel. He apparently wasn't ticklish, but she felt him tremble a little at the touch. His eyes flickered to her and back to the front again, jaw muscles tight.

 

“Too sharp,” she said. “You are dehydrated, Wells. Go back into the bathroom. You will find a cup in the cupboard above the sink. Drink sixteen ounces of water and come back. Move.” She tapped him on the dangling tip of his cock, just hard enough to sting. It was an average cock. Flaccid, it was about four inches, the end of the foreskin forming a soft little excess gathered over the end of the glans, like some exotic plant. Hard he would probably be five or six inches long. His left testicle was higher than the right one, though both were a bit retracted at the moment, obviously from nerves.

 

He winced gratifyingly and turned to double-time it back into the bathroom. Esmer waited, tapping the end of the riding crop against her palm. Gloves were another thing that she reserved for special occasions, or for evenings when anal penetration was in order. She had several sorts. Tonight she planned something much simpler.

 

He came back out, his lips still slightly damp. She stepped forward to run her finger over them, then rubbed her fingers together, resting the riding crop on his shoulder. She felt a sharp quivering pulse of pleasure through her clit as she felt her power over him. His eyes were fixed anxiously on her face, waiting for her approval or disapproval.

 

“Go and get the mag-cuffs from the bed,” she told him, lowering her voice slightly.

 

“Yes, Viola.” He went quickly to get them, almost dropping them in his haste. She held the riding crop at the ready, but he managed to bring them back without losing them, holding one in each hand. He offered them to her, his head bowed.

 

“Hold this.” She pushed the middle shaft of the crop between his teeth sideways, making sure he had a good grip before she let go. “Now kneel, hands above your head.” He obeyed as she snapped a cuff open. She cuffed him, then pushed his wrists together so that the maglocks activated, snapping the little magnet extensions of the cuffs to each other to form a short center bridge between them. Her crotch was close to his face as she did this, and she felt him breathing faster, hot air stirring against her thighs. “All right, boy. Stand up.”

 

She felt him shudder again at the first use of a diminutive. She had laid no special stress on it. Not yet. Esmer took the crop from his mouth and reached it up to the ceiling to tap an unobtrusive panel. A hook lowered down with a soft hiss of hidden hydraulics. She maneuvered the cuffs over it.

 

“Feet apart,” she said. “Head up. And do try not to make too much noise, Wells. I abhor fuss.”

 

He snapped his feet apart immediately, stiffening his spine. She walked around behind him, trailing the riding crop along his ribs, then reached up to tap the hook. It started to rise again, dragging him upward until she stopped it with another tap. Now he was on his toes, not quite dangling, not comfortably settled on the floor either. He was already starting to breathe hard, ribs shifting visibly under his skin.

 

“Aidan Wells, are you ready?” she asked, her tone sweet and soft now, breathing into his ear from behind and slightly below.

 

“Yes, Viola,” he said hoarsely. His voice did not quite crack at the lowest point, but she felt the fissure trying to form. He had been subjected to days of tension, probably weeks of it before that preparing for the sims. He had been responsible for keeping everyone on task, watching all of them, judging their performance. No sleep. Little food and water.

 

“Wound up so tight,” she said softly. “You're ready to break. Well, we know just what to do about that, don't we, boy?”

 

She slapped him on the ass with the riding crop, hard, putting a solid flick of the wrist into it. He twitched, but he didn't make a noise. He braced slightly on the balls of his feet, back arched slightly toward her, ready for the next one. She made him wait until the muscles in his calves were shaking and then gave it to him again, this time across the backs of his knees. They buckled, losing him his footing as he dangled from his arms, and then she gave it to him again and again, across the back, across the ass, across the thighs and shoulders. He twisted and gasped, trying to regain his feet, and eventually she let him. She strolled around to the front of him, pressing the tip of the crop up under the flesh of his jaw. He pushed back just enough to let her know there was resistance. She smiled for the first time, a small predatory curve of her lips. Wells was breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead. From the corners of her eyes she saw the slight movement as his cock stirred, just a little plump now, and in response she felt another thrill through clit and cunt.

 

_Mine. I did that. Mine._

 

“I think we're ready to go a little harder,” she said. “Would you like that, Wells?” Her empty hand reached down to flick his shaft with her index fingertip, another little sting. In response he grew harder, tip of the glans kissing her palm. He was retracting. She felt the foreskin sliding back as she brushed it with her fingertips. As she had expected, only stress and exhaustion had made him impotent. Now he was a little more relaxed, less worried about it, his will resting in her hands. She gloated silently over that, wallowed in it.

 

“Yes, Viola,” he said.

 

“You may beg.”

 

“Please, Viola,” he panted, and this time his voice _did_ crack. “Please. Harder.”

 

“What a polite boy.” Her voice caressed him, now full of warmth and approval. She walked around behind him again and laid the riding crop on the bed, slowly, so that he could hear every movement, every clack-clomp of her heavy heels on the hard floor. It probably felt pleasantly cool against the balls of his feet now that he was getting hot. From behind his ears and neck were red, a warm flush across his ass and heels where the capillaries were near the surface. The riding crop had left little welts, red stripes across the white, but they were already fading.

 

Esmer took up the flogger, running its many leather straps through her hands, enjoying the feel and sound of it. She inhaled the scent of the leather, and again she smiled as she turned to step behind Wells. It had been a long day for her, but her arm wasn't tired. She felt invigorated, the sparkle of hard arousal glittering through her head as her clit throbbed. Out of its own little sheath, it pressed eagerly against her labia, pleasured ever so slightly with every movement that pressed the loincloth back into her crotch. Some days she liked a lot of pressure. Some days she would make her little toys use their fingers or their tongues, hand on their heads. Some days she would ride their leg while she made them sit without a single touch on their cocks. But today she felt that Wells' needs were particular, and today she was going to give him exactly what he needed.

 

She struck him lightly at first, testing his reaction. He stiffened up, high on his toes, head raised and shuddering in anticipation of more. Esmer gradually beat him harder, small pause between each stroke so that he would have time to anticipate it. Then she began to vary her strokes, so that he was never quite sure whether the next one would be hard or soft. Once she flicked the flogger down between his legs, so that the weighted tips of the straps flicked him in the taint. He practically whinnied, high-pitched noise of surprise and pain. He didn't use the word, though. He didn't stop her. Viola actually grinned then, little hiss of breath between her teeth as the length of her cunny contracted hard and suddenly. From that point, every so often she would do it again. She was careful not to let the ends of the flogger hit him in the head. Concussing him would ruin both their fun, and she was very aroused now, not wishing it to end before she was done.

 

After a while she switched hands to give her right arm a rest. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her increasingly agitated breathing as she beat him, the soft jingle of the chains on her vest, and once a smothered giggle as she hit him in the balls. He squeaked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice for such a big butch soldier. She felt his mounting arousal as she felt her own. His sack bobbled around as he twitched and writhed in his bonds. She enjoyed watching that, so she was aware of the exact moment when it stiffened and started to pop upward between his legs, and then his back arched as every muscle in his body tensed. He jerked as if in a seizure as he came, gritting his teeth to smother a hoarse cry. Come shot out of him so high and hard that she saw a jet of it from behind, over his shoulder; if he hadn't thrown his head back so hard he might've hit himself in the eye. She gave him a couple more softer strokes as he kept coming. When she was younger she had heard that male orgasm was one hard burst, and from that she had expected one shot of ejaculate, but that was not accurate; she walked to the side far enough to watch the second and third and fourth spurts as his pelvis jerked, a little less come each time, ropes of it firing away from him and falling in elegant loops to the floor. His cock was so hard that the skin looked translucent, angry blue veins standing out on the side nearest her. She felt that oxygen-deprived feeling as she looked at it, the elevated moment that meant her own orgasm was not far off.

 

Afterward Wells sagged, hanging from the cuffs as he let his head fall forward. One ankle turned outward slightly as his knees gave out. Esmer touched the cool handle of the flogger to the bottom of his cock, the little hard pommel brushing the frenulum that connected the retracted foreskin with the glans. She was rewarded with another tiny spurt of ejaculate, though Wells himself remained limp. It gave her a feeling of such potency, such power, that she gasped, waves of orgasm crashed through her so hard that she had to work to stay standing. She braced one hand against his chest and felt him swing backward slightly, his breathing oddly slow and labored.

 

“What a mess you've made, boy,” she purred, feeling the heat in her face, the wetness in her cunt. He did not answer. She frowned, leaning closer to press the pommel up under his chin. His eyes were shut, and when she let go his jaw hung slack. She realized with momentary alarm that he had fainted, blacked out when he came. Esmer reached up to tap the hook, tossing the flogger onto the bed so that she could put both arms around Wells' waist and ease the change in position. When he was sitting on the floor she stopped the hook and detached the cuffs, popping the emergency release on each one so that they clattered to the floor.

 

The noise made him twitch, eyes fluttering. Esmer sat cradling him in her lap, his head pillowed on her biceps as she kept the other arm around him. The chains on her vest lay cool against his neck, her breast against his ear. He was going slowly flaccid now.

 

“Wells,” she said, bending over him, her tone urgent. “Aidan.”

 

His eyes looked puffy and bruised, exhausted, but he forced them open at the sound of her voice. She saw his hand close and open where it lay against the floor.

 

“Yes, Viola,” he mumbled, still trying to preserve the protocol she'd given him. That gave her a little shiver, and she squeezed him tightly, leaning down to press her forehead to his, sweat to sweat.

 

“You passed out,” she said. “Did you miss it?”

 

He smiled slightly, drunkenly. “No,” he said. “I felt it all. God, it was so good.”

 

“Yes. Yes, it was. You're a good boy,” she said, smiling down at him. “Can you get up if I help you? Normally I'd make you clean this up, but I think you're about finished for tonight. We'll get through the sonic and I'll put you to bed.”

 

“Yes, I can,” he said. He needed a lot of help, staggering and dozy, but she managed to get them both through the shower. He had folded his clothes neatly just as she ordered him. She went and cleaned up the dribbles of semen and put the toys away as he took a piss, so weak he had to lean on the wall above the toilet with one hand to keep from falling down. By the time he was done with that she had the bed turned down. She came back, naked, to help him out to lie down. His eyes caressed her body, and again she saw that slightly drunken grin.

 

“You're beautiful, Viola,” he said, as she dragged his legs up onto the mattress. Her arms were tired now, a satisfying heaviness.

 

“And you're very pretty, sweetness. How do you feel?” She tucked the sheet up around his chest, and then the coverlet. Her hand caressed his cheek and jaw. He shut his eyes, leaning into the touch.

 

“Empty,” he said. “You have no idea what a relief it is. I'm just – floating.”

 

“Good,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him tenderly on the cheek. “Good boy. Just float. I have you, Aidan.” She ran her hand along his throat, to feel the slackness of the tendons. His head dropped to the side without her supporting hand, heavy. She rested her other hand on his chest to feel his breathing change, growing slower and heavier as he fell asleep.

 

Afterward she went to relieve herself, to get a drink, and then she went and climbed into bed with him. Wells was far gone by that time, completely unaware of her. Esmer laid her head on his shoulder, eyelids heavy.

 

_Everything in its place. Everything according to plan. Perfect._

 

 

_End_

 

 


End file.
